


we disappear into each other

by abovetheruins, vindicatedtruth (orphan_account)



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Sex, M/M, Top!Archie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6400156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/vindicatedtruth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Archie gets a little lost inside his head. </p><p>Whenever that happens, whenever Cook senses Archie’s need to escape, there’s only one thing he can do – he follows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we disappear into each other

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another collab from yours truly and the lovely vindicatedtruth. This one's a whopping 8000+ words, and truly a labor of love. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Cook's POV - abovetheruins  
> Archie's POV - vindicatedtruth
> 
> Title from David Cook's "[Fade Into Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EJp8NZFwCEU)"

Sometimes Archie gets a little lost inside his head. He tends to internalize when he’s troubled by something, tends to retreat back into his shell whenever he’s feeling overwhelmed. He’s grown better at hiding it over the years, even from the people closest to him.

He can’t hide it from Cook.

Not back during Idol or the summer tour, when he’d have to duck into dressing rooms or hide out in his bunk to decompress after a show; not during the mess with his record label, when he tried to downplay all of his fears and anxieties, putting on a brave face despite the fact that his entire career was standing on shaky ground; not when the realities and demands of the music industry were tearing him down, one piece at a time.

Certainly not now, when falling back into that life and going back to L.A. was the last thing he wanted, when the joy of creating music, of sharing that piece of himself with the world, had waned to the point where he wasn’t even sure he could do it anymore.

The move to Nashville lifts a heavy burden from his shoulders. He tells Cook that he feels like he can _breathe_ again, and Cook catches him humming new strains of melody whenever they meet for lunch or Archie stays over.

Still, there are moments when familiar insecurities and anxieties creep in, when Archie retreats into the sanctity of his own head to escape from the chaos outside, sequestering himself away in his apartment or Cook’s bedroom to find solace in silence.  

Whenever that happens, whenever Cook senses Archie’s need to escape, there’s only one thing he can do – he follows.

 

Archie’s quiet over dinner, picking idly at the food on his plate as they sit at the dining room table, the dogs waiting hopefully at their feet for any scraps that might find their way to the floor.

Cook nudges Archie’s foot with his own, lips quirking when he catches his boyfriend’s gaze.

“Penny for your thoughts, Arch?” he asks, tilting his head.

Archie shrugs, his lips tilting into a small smile. “I’m just – I keep thinking about the show next week.”

Cook doesn’t need to ask to know Archie’s nervous about it; it’s his first secular show since his return stateside, and though he’s tried to hide it, Cook has caught the trembling in his hands and the way his teeth worry his bottom lip each time the subject comes up.

He hooks their ankles together under the table, waiting until Archie looks up at him to say, “You’ll be fine, Archie. You’re ready for this.”

“I know, and I am, I’m just – “ Archie trails off with a helpless shrug, staring down as his plate.

“I can always bring you back up on stage with me, if you think that’ll help,” Cook offers, trying to lighten the mood. He basks in the small grin Archie sends his way, tossing in a wink for good measure. “What do you say? Sandy 2.0? It’s got a nice ring to it, right?”

Archie laughs softly, shaking his head at Cook’s antics. “Only if I get to pick the song this time,” he says, smiling. The tightness around his eyes eases for a moment, and Cook basks in the sight, barely resisting the urge to curve his hands around Archie’s cheeks and brush his thumbs against those dimples.

Cook winks. “You’ve got a deal, babe. Next time, you call the shots.”

Archie’s good humor lasts about as long as it takes to finish dinner. Cook catches his gaze going distant as they stand at the sink, Cook washing the dishes and Archie on drying duty. After the third time that Cook has to nudge Archie to catch his attention, he gently urges his boyfriend to head into the bedroom without him.

“I’ll finish up, it’s okay,” he says, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Archie’s mouth to forestall any protests. “It’ll just take me a few minutes.”

Archie swallows, his throat working a moment before he says, “Okay.” Cook catches him rubbing at his eyes as he heads into the bedroom, calling a distracted goodnight to the dogs camped out in the living room.

Cook turns back to the dishes with a heavy heart. He wishes he could take away all of Archie’s anxieties, ease his worries somehow. He knows that realistically there’s nothing he can do but be there for him, knows that Archie will have to take to that stage by himself and that there are no magic words that Cook can use to make that nauseating blend of nervous anticipation go away. Still, he wishes there was something he could do to make Archie feel less unsure of himself.

 _Actually…_  He pauses with his hands submerged in soapy water, brain whirring as an idea hits him.

Maybe he can’t make Archie’s anxieties go away, but he can damn sure distract him for a while, help ground him in the here and now in the only way he knows how.

He dries the last plate and tosses the dishtowel over the faucet to dry, shutting off the lights in the kitchen and living room as he heads into the bedroom.

The bathroom light is on, the door cracked open; Cook can hear Archie brushing his teeth, and he moves to turn down the bed, folding down the dark brown comforter and sheets while he listens to Archie complete his nightly routine. He makes sure to grab the necessary items from the bedside table after he flicks on the lamp, and reaches for the hem of his t-shirt just as he hears Archie shut off the bathroom light.

“Ready for bed, babe?” he asks over his shoulder, rucking his shirt up over his stomach and chest and pulling it over his head. His heart warms at the sight of his boyfriend, his face and hair a little damp from his nightly washing, dressed in sleep pants and one of Cook’s old college t-shirts, his bare feet long and pale against the plush carpet.

Archie’s eyes trail over his chest, and Cook warms at the spark of interest he sees in that gaze. “Um, I guess?”

“You don’t sound so sure,” Cook says, amused. He rolls his shoulders, curling his toes in the carpet and enjoying the way Archie’s gaze follows the movement. “I had something else in mind, actually, if you want to – ?” He trails off meaningfully, gesturing toward the bed and the supplies laid out on the table.

Archie follows his gaze and flushes endearingly at the familiar tube sitting so innocuously next to Cook’s glasses on the bedside table. “Oh. I – “ He bites his lower lip, and Cook’s blood spikes at the sight of those pearly whites digging into soft skin. “I want to.”

Even after all their years together, it’s still a rush to hear Archie say the words, especially when they’re coupled with the added weight of what Cook has planned tonight.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he says, voice rough. He crosses over to where Archie is standing, his discarded shirt dangling from his fingers, and takes in the sight of his boyfriend’s smooth, young face, the curve of his cheeks and the bow of his lips, a little red from where he’d been worrying at them with his teeth.

He also takes in the soft bruises under his eyes, the slight tightening of his eyes and his mouth from weeks of stress and worry, and tosses his shirt to the floor.

In the next instant, he falls to his knees.

“Cook,” Archie stutters. His hands fall to rest on Cook’s shoulders, cool against his bare skin, and Cook grins at the soft flush of red high on his cheeks. “What are you doing?”

“Keeping my promise.” He curves his palms over Archie’s hips, plucking at the soft material of his pajama pants, just enjoying the feel of Archie’s body beneath his hands.

Archie tilts his head, his fingers brushing over the swell of Cook’s shoulders, along the arch of his neck. “What promise?”

Cook grins up at him, curling his fingers beneath Archie’s waistband, feeling Archie’s abdominal muscles twitch as he brushes against the soft trail of hair leading to his groin. “Did you forget already?” he asks, tilting his head as Archie’s fingers trail up into his hair. “Next show, baby, remember? You call the shots.”

He leans back on his haunches, staring up into Archie’s dark, dark eyes, and tells him, “You’re in control, Arch. Tell me what to do.”

-

For several seconds, Archie swears he has forgotten how to breathe.

He looks down at Cook, on his knees as if Archie is someone to worship, and he feels his heart swell with tenderness and affection made heady with dizzying lust. 

Tremblingly, he reaches out to cup that beloved face with one hand, and heat coils in his gut when Cook only closes his eyes and leans into Archie’s touch in complete submission.

He knows why Cook is doing this, and oh the way the man looks out for him, putting Archie’s needs above himself; with the way Cook _loves_ him, Archie should be the one worshipping _him_.

It’s that sentiment that sends his careening thoughts screeching to a halt.  He swallows as his thumb caresses Cook’s lower lip and shivers from the warm gust of breath when Cook sighs.

If they’re going to be blasphemous tonight, Archie thinks as his mind slows and narrows down to nothing but the beautiful man by his feet, they might as well take it all the way.

“First rule then,” Archie says, his throat suddenly dry.  “I don’t want you on your knees.”

Cook opens his eyes at that, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, and Archie silences his protest with a finger to Cook’s lips.  He leans down, presses his forehead to Cook’s, and murmurs, “I want you on the bed… because I want you to be comfortable for what I have planned for you tonight.”

Cook’s eyes widen, and Archie is quietly thrilled to note the way that hazel-blue gaze immediately darkens.  Cook nods silently, and Archie steps back as Cook stands shakily and moves to sit on the bed behind him.  Archie moves to follow, and when Cook reaches for him automatically, Archie stops.

“The second rule is,” Archie says breathlessly, “you’re not allowed to touch me.”

Cook freezes.  “… What?”

He looks up at Archie as he finally moves closer. 

“I can’t be distracted tonight…”

Archie lifts his knee and places it on the bed.

“…and your hands are an expert at distracting me…”

His other knee takes the place on Cook’s other side, effectively straddling him.

“So tonight, you are to keep your hands to yourself.”

He cups Cook’s face in both hands and lifts it to meet his gaze.  “Is that clear?”

Cook’s mouth opens and closes soundlessly for a few seconds, seemingly lost for words.  Finally, he answers: “… Crystal.”

Archie smiles.  “Good boy,” he whispers, before claiming Cook’s mouth.

There’s nothing shy or sweet about this kiss; Archie’s mouth is readily open, tongue swirling around the seam of Cook’s lips, quietly demanding entrance.  Groaning, Cook helplessly opens to him at that tender assault as Archie proceeds to lick inside the roof of his mouth.  On either side of him, Archie can sense Cook’s hands gripping the edge of the bed tightly, and Archie smiles into the kiss, knowing how it must be taking all of Cook’s willpower to obey and not _touch_ him.

He knows this is not their natural dynamic—Cook’s a tactile person by nature and he loves touching Archie; Cook’s _also_ dominant by nature and he absolutely _loves_ to be the one driving their encounters—so for Cook to relinquish control in this way frightens Archie a little, if only because he doesn’t want to hurt Cook.

That reminds him…

His bottom lip is caught between Cook’s teeth, and Cook groans in protest when Archie pulls back suddenly.  “Cook,” he says softly, “look at me.”

Cook is breathing heavily by this time, but he obeys as his eyelids flutter open.  Archie’s gaze softens as his hands move to cup Cook’s cheeks.  “The third rule is… if there’s anything I do tonight that you don’t want, you have to tell me to stop.”

Distracted, Cook seems unable to stop kissing him as he turns his head to kiss the inside of Archie’s palm, making him shiver.  “I’m—I’m serious,” Archie stammers as he curls his fingers inward when Cook licks and nibbles at the sensitive skin, moving downward to the inside of his wrist, “no—no safe word.  Anytime you say ‘stop,’ I will.”

Cook looks at him then with half-lidded eyes. “You do realise,” he says hoarsely as he rubs his jaw enticingly against Archie’s palm, the soft friction of his stubble equally ticklish and erotic, “that with you, I _never_ want to stop.”

Archie has to squeeze his eyes shut momentarily at that—maybe he should have set a no-speaking rule for Cook too, just because of how the low timbre of that voice distracts and _devastates_ him.  When he next opens his eyes, Cook is smirking knowingly at him.

“We’ll see about that,” Archie says as his own gaze turns dark with the challenge.

Being in control like this might be a little frightening… but Archie has to admit, it’s also incredibly _thrilling_.

He straddles Cook fully on the bed then, swallowing the whimper that escapes Cook when Archie kisses him with renewed fervour.  He keeps Cook’s head still with both hands as Archie sucks relentlessly on his tongue, and Cook’s hands become skittish on the bed, as if he’s losing his grip in more ways than one.  Archie can feel Cook hardening beneath him, and he smirks as he grinds down, heightening the sensation with the maddening friction between their clothed cocks.

Cook throws his head back helplessly at that, his mouth falling open with a wanton moan, and Archie takes advantage by transferring his mouth to Cook’s neck, sucking a fresh bruise onto the sensitive skin by his pulse point and soothing it with the gentle lapping of his tongue.

Archie begins dusting open-mouthed kisses along Cook’s jaw as his hands trail downward over Cook’s bare chest, blunt fingernails scratching at the skin, and Archie smiles at the way Cook shivers at the sensation.  He nibbles at Cook’s earlobe, licks along the shell of his ear, and whispers:

“I’m going to take you tonight.”

He delights in the surprised hitch in Cook’s breath as he pulls back to gaze at him.  He looks into that dark, needful, trusting gaze; he swallows against the emotion constricting his throat as his hand moves to gently clutch at Cook’s nape.

“… And I’m going to take care of you.”

-

Cook wraps his hands in the rumpled bedding, fingers digging into the sheets as Archie settles fully atop him. He wants desperately to touch Archie as Archie is touching him – to wrap his arms around Archie’s waist, to bury his fingers in Archie’s dark hair, to curl his palms around the nape of Archie’s neck and pull him back down for more of the soft, heated kisses that drive Cook absolutely _wild_.

He can feel a bruise blooming to life on the side of his neck; Archie’s long fingers brush over the spot, soft at first but then harder, lingering over the hot skin, and Cook sinks his teeth into his bottom lip at the sensation.

Archie follows the movement with his eyes, leans down to slant their mouths together and soothe the sting of Cook’s teeth on his lip with a soft lap of his tongue; again, his words reverberate in Cook’s brain, _I’m going to take care of you_ , and his cock pulses in the confines of his jeans.

Archie’s fingers drift from his neck to his chest, his palms pressing flat against Cook’s collarbone and slipping down, down. Cook grunts as the edge of blunt nails rake over his nipples, his hips arching off the bed in an unconscious search for more friction.

“Don’t move,” Archie murmurs against his lips, clamping his thighs against Cook’s and stilling his hips’ frantic grind. For a moment Cook wants to disobey, frustration mounting in him as his body’s call for movement, for friction, for _touch_ is denied, but Archie’s hands drifting over his stomach, followed closely by his mouth, stills him completely.

He watches through half-lidded eyes as Archie presses meandering kisses along his torso. They’re soft and fleeting, interspersed with flicks of tongue and quick, playful bites, and Cook surrenders to the teasing assault with a deep, throaty moan.

“Baby,” he breathes, clenching his fingers in the sheets underneath him. He wants so badly to bury his fingers in Archie’s hair, feel the heat of his skin beneath his palm, but he resists. Tonight isn’t about what _he_ wants. No, tonight is all about Archie – whatever he wants, Cook will give to him, and if this is what he needs, to have Cook at his mercy like this, then so be it.

Archie presses a soft, lingering kiss to his lower stomach, just to the right of his belly button, and Cook draws in a ragged gasp at the ticklish touch.

“I love you.” It’s whispered with a reverence that brings tears to Cook’s eyes, and he swallows roughly as Archie continues to litter his stomach with kisses, his heart filling just as much at Archie’s words as the sensation of his lush mouth against his skin. “So much, Cook. Can I show you?” Archie’s fingers slip beneath his waistband, brushing against the trail of hair leading to his groin. “Please?”

Heat pools in Cook’s belly at the low rasp of Archie’s voice, gritty with desire. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, can do little but nod his head to Archie’s request, and has to take a moment to compose himself when Archie gently urges him to, “Turn over, sweetheart.”

He grits out a curse as he settles on his stomach, the friction of his jeans against his hardening cock nearly unbearable. Archie alleviates his agony by pulling at his jeans, slipping them and his boxers down and off and tossing them to the floor, and presses his chest against Cook’s side, curving over him to press a kiss to his shoulder blade.

“Hands and knees, Cook,” he orders softly, fingertips trailing over the line of Cook’s back and pressing against the dip at the base of his spine.

“Fuck, Archie,” Cook rasps, hurrying to comply, until he’s balanced on his hands and knees on top of the bed, naked but for the heated flush spreading over his body.

Archie’s still dressed, and the soft drag of his clothes against Cook’s bare skin is nearly as maddening as the drag of his fingertips over Cook’s ass, soothing the skin with long, slow strokes, until Cook’s breathing settles, his heart rate slowing. He closes his eyes as he surrenders to the sensation, listening to Archie’s breathy voice whispering how beautiful he is, how much he loves him, promising to make this good for him.

Cook wants to tell him that that’s not what tonight is about, wants to tell Archie to just do what feels right to him, to not worry about Cook’s pleasure, but before he can open his mouth he feels those soft, bitten-up lips open against the base of his spine, and the only sound he’s capable of emitting is a long, low moan.

Archie’s fingers dip into the hot stretch of skin between his cheeks, and Cook sucks in a breath as Archie’s lips follow the same path, his body trembling even as he attempts to still it, because holy fuck he’s never imagined that Archie would do this, never thought it’d be something he’d want, even though he falls apart when Cook opens him up this way before they have sex.

Cook holds his breath as Archie scatters kisses around his entrance, clenching his fingers in the bedding as Archie stretches him open, delving forward with a soft moan that Cook barely hears over the rush of his own blood in his ears. His arms tremble as Archie continues to tease him with fleeting kisses, and almost unconsciously he begins to thrust back, chasing the sensation of Archie’s mouth against his most intimate skin.

He yelps as Archie’s teeth suddenly sink into the meat of his right buttock, cursing, “ _Shit_ , Archie,” and glancing over his shoulder at his boyfriend. “What are you – ?”    

He breaks off with a ragged gasp as Archie flattens his tongue and laves at his entrance, a long, hot swipe that weakens Cook’s knees and sends his head falling forward, eyes clenching shut as Archie fucking _devours_ him.

He mutters obscenities under his breath, an endless stream of _Fuck_ and _Archie_ because he can’t think of anything else; there’s nothing except the white-hot pleasure that Archie’s wringing out of him. He tries to bite off the sounds he’s making, tries to muffle himself, but then all he hears is Archie’s soft, snuffling breaths and the wet sounds of tongue and teeth sucking at the puckered skin of his entrance, and he can feel the rush of his orgasm building in the base of his spine, his cock hanging thick and heavy between his legs. He knows he’s about to come, and he chokes out Archie’s name, trying to warn him, but all his boyfriend does is delve forward with his tongue, reaching between Cook’s legs to stroke his leaking cock, and between one frantic heartbeat and the next Cook is coming, keening into the mattress as Archie strokes him through his climax, smearing cum down the length of his cock and panting against the swell of Cook’s ass.

Cook slumps forward onto his elbows as the last of his tremors subside, breathing like he’s run a marathon. Archie gently coaxes him onto his back, running his fingers through Cook’s messy hair as Cook stares breathlessly up at him. Archie’s lips are red and wet, and when Cook realizes why, his cock gives a feeble twitch against his thigh.

“Are you okay?” Archie asks him, and god, his voice is _wrecked_ , deeper and raspier than ever. His touch, however, is infinitely gentle as he strokes Cook’s sweaty hair off of his brow, leaning down to press a kiss to his flushed, ruddy cheek.

“More than okay,” Cook croaks. His fingers are still fucking shaking as he reaches up, intending to curl his hand around Archie’s nape and pull him into a proper kiss, but Archie shakes his head, ducking out of reach.

“Good,” he murmurs, pressing against Cook’s side, and _oh_ , Cook can feel the hot length of him encased in his pajama pants. “Because I’m so not done with you.”

-

“Fourth rule then,” Archie rasps out, his voice breaking.  Cook makes that aborted movement again to kiss him, but Archie stills him with fingers wrapped loosely around his throat and murmurs, “My mouth is off limits now.”

Cook looks so devastated that for a moment, Archie is tempted to give up the game.  “… What?”

Archie smiles and soothes him with meandering kisses along his neck and jaw, fingertips pressing against his mark on Cook’s neck and making him hiss at the pleasurable sting.  “It’s just that,” he teases, “you shouldn’t kiss me after knowing where my mouth has just been.”

Archie lets that sink on for several seconds, before Cook growls at him, half in frustration, half in desperate desire: “I don’t fucking _care_ ,” as Cook suddenly turns his head.

Archie laughs softly as he dodges Cook’s seeking mouth and leans back.  “Patience, my love,” he says softly he runs his fingertips gently down Cook’s cheek, over his jaw, and finally his lips.  “I have plans for that lovely mouth of yours.”

Cook’s eyes flutter close then, and Archie feels Cook’s entire frame shudder beneath him.  He smiles and takes advantage of Cook’s distraction to settle his haunches on Cook’s thighs as he simply gazes down at him, letting his gaze rake over Cook’s shoulders, his tattooed arms and chest, the smattering of hair on his stomach leading down to his groin.

Unable to resist, Archie follows his gaze with his hands, keeping his touch light and reverent.  On either side of him, Cook’s hands clutches at the sheets as he swallows back his whimpers and exhales shakily.

“Your body is such a work of art,” he murmurs as he caresses every inch of Cook he can reach.  “And you are so _beautiful_.  How someone like you can find someone like me even worth looking at is a wonder.”

Cook opens his eyes then, and the look he shoots Archie is filled with disbelief.  “You…” Cook breathes.  “You have _got_ to be joking.  Do you—have you even seen _yourself_ in the mirror?”

Archie quirks his mouth at Cook.  “I have, but I can’t say it’s worth looking twice at as much as…”

He then leans down and settles his mouth over one of Cook’s nipples: “… _This_.”

He sucks that nub into his mouth, coating it with his tongue, and Cook’s grip tightens on the sheets as he lets out as a surprised gasp.  Archie takes his time swirling his mouth over it while keeping his hand occupied with playing and pinching the other, before he transfers his mouth and switches tracks, playfully biting and licking along Cook’s chest.

Cook lets out a bitten-back curse at the teasing flicks of Archie’s tongue.  “Baby,” he groans.  “When—when can I touch you?  Please?”

Archie releases him with a soft, wet pop, and he feels his lover’s cock twitch needfully at the sound.

“If you’re good,” Archie gazes at him with half-lidded eyes, “you can touch me after I’ve made you come for a second time.”

Cook’s eyes widen momentarily before he settles on a feral gaze.  “I’ll be good then,” he promises roughly.  “I’ll be very, _very_ good.”

It’s Archie who now shudders at the power of those simple words, and he leans forward to mouth his way to the tattoo over Cook’s heart.  He suddenly finds himself whispering:

“I can take care of you like this forever.”

Cook stills beneath him, and Archie squeezes his eyes shut.  He hasn’t meant to let the sentiment slip into his words; “forever” isn’t something they’ve ever openly discussed, after all.

He leans back to find Cook gazing at him with open wonder.  Unwilling to face just yet what that look means, Archie distracts them both by rucking his shirt up to remove it and chucking it carelessly to the side.  Whatever Cook is going to say next is lost as he stares hungrily at that newly-exposed skin.

Archie smiles at the spark of heat that searing gaze ignites in his gut, feeding his already throbbing cock.  Still, it’s not often he gets to put on a show for Cook like this, and he fully intends to let the other man _enjoy_ it.  

“This is what you like looking at?” Archie murmurs as runs his own hands slowly over his chest and down his stomach, with Cook raptly following every movement with his eyes.  When Archie pauses at the waistband of his pants, Cook bites his lip and whimpers in anticipation.

Slowly, Archie removes the last of his clothing with shaky hands and tosses them over the bed.  When the cool air hits the sensitive skin of his leaking cock, he isn’t sure who between them has let out a louder sigh of relief as it jumps at the sensation.

Unable to deny his aching need by that time, Archie gives in and wraps his fingers over his cock to pump slowly.  He squeezes his eyes shut as his mouth falls open in a silent gasp as he rocks up to his own hand.

Below him, Cook sounds absolutely _wrecked_.

“Archie,” he stutters as his knuckles begin to turn white, “let me help you with that, baby, oh god, _please_ let me help you with that.”

Breathing heavily, Archie’s lids flutter open to meet Cook’s frantic, wild-eyed gaze.  He bites his lip and takes one last swipe over his cock, thumbing the head and smearing his fingers with copious amounts of his own precome.

He holds onto that gaze as he transfers that hand to press against Cook’s mouth.

“Lick,” he quietly demands.

Cook quickly obeys and flicks out his tongue to lave at Archie’s fingertips, moaning softly as his eyes fall close.

“How,” Archie stutters as he feels Cook hardening beneath him once more, “how does it taste?”

Cook’s eyes snap open then, and he meets Archie’s gaze challengingly as he growls:

“More.  I want more.”

“Good boy,” Archie praises him softly as he leans forward to breathe against Cook’s jaw: “Now _suck_.”

He presses his fingers slowly into that maddening mouth, and Cook groans as he begins sucking in earnest.

The skillful tongue swirling around his fingertips is sending electric shocks straight to Archie’s cock, and Archie desperately distracts himself by trailing biting kisses down Cook’s chest and stomach, dipping his own tongue into Cook’s navel and making the man writhe in response.

Cook begins losing his finesse, desperately licking and sucking everywhere at Archie’s fingers and palm and wrist — it’s the only part of Archie’s anatomy he can reach and make love to at the moment, and he seems to be making the most of what he’s allowed.  Finally, when Archie feels himself skirting closer and closer to the edge with the damnable skills of that clever tongue, he softly instructs:  “Stop.  That’s enough,” and pulls his fingers away as he moves lower on the bed.

Cook’s groan of frustration turns into a sharp, surprised intake of breath when Archie next tells him: “Hold yourself open for me.”

Trembling, Cook spreads his legs wide open to Archie’s gaze and lifts his hips.  

Archie inhales as he slips one hand underneath Cook’s hips to support him.  “Good boy,” he whispers—and slides one wet finger inside.

Cook barely restrains himself from letting out a howl, and Archie soothes the shock of that intrusion by planting open-mouthed kisses along the inside of Cook’s thigh.  When he senses Cook trembling, he reminds him again, concern lacing his tone even as his teeth graze along that sensitive skin:  “Tell me if you want to stop.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Cook bites out as he grinds _down_ on Archie’s hand, “don’t stop, don’t you  _dare_ stop, _please_.”

That’s the second time tonight that Cook has pleaded with him, and Archie shivers as he finds… he _likes_ making Cook beg for mercy like this.  

He slides his finger out and, as he transfers his mouth to Cook’s other thigh to give equal attention, slips back in with two fingers this time.  He bites at the sensitive skin—and when he finds that bundle of nerves inside Cook, he crooks his fingers inward.

Cook doesn’t hold back on his howl this time as he arches off the bed, and Archie glances up in satisfaction to see Cook nearly fully hard— _again_.

He keeps stroking at Cook’s prostate—slowly, lightly, maddeningly.  He begins sliding three fingers in and out of him now, crooking them dextrously inside each time, until Cook is a sobbing, writhing mess beneath his slow, tender torture.  It’s only when he feels the tell-tale trembling of Cook’s limbs, signalling that he’s close, does Archie stop.

“Not yet,” he manages to say between heavy breaths, his own cock hot and heavy between his thighs, “you’re not allowed to come just yet.”

He kneads Cook’s thighs comfortingly to calm their shaking before he crawls back up over Cook’s body.

“Look at me,” he whispers desperately — and when Cook obeys to gaze wantonly at him, that look alone is almost enough to make Archie come undone.

“I want…” Archie swallows.  They’ve never done this before, and though he’s certainly going to stop if Cook tells him he isn’t up for this, he desperately hopes Cook _wants_ this, too.

“I want you to prepare my cock.”

Cook tilts his head questioningly and glances at the supplies laid out on the table, but Archie shakes his head.

“… With your mouth.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Cook breathes as he lights up at the wrong idea, and mistakenly begins sliding himself lower on the bed.

Archie stills him with a gentle but firm hand on his chest.  “No, stay.  I’m… I’m the one who’s going to move to a different position, okay?”

Cook is watching him curiously now, but nevertheless acquiesces as he lies back down.  It’s only when Archie turns around and swings his leg over to straddle Cook the opposite way that Cook finally gets it.

“… Mother _fuck_ ,” Cook curses vehemently, his voice shot to hell with unbridled lust.

Trembling at his own daring, Archie braces his knees on the bed on either side of Cook as he lifts his hips to position his cock over Cook’s waiting, panting mouth.

“I want you to prepare my cock,” Archie repeats shakily, his own lips skimming over Cook’s leaking head as his fingers close over the base, “while I’m preparing yours.  Be gentle, though—it’s not your mouth I want to come inside of.”

And he sinks his own mouth down on his lover’s cock.

-

Cook clenches fistfuls of the bedding between his fingers, a guttural cry ringing from his throat as Archie’s soft, plush lips sink over his cock. For a moment he’s lost to the pleasure pooling deep in his belly, flowing like fire through his veins. It’s a struggle to force his impending orgasm back; he’s been pushed so close to the precipice so many times already, and despite the fact that he’s already come once, he knows that it won’t take much to send him careening over that ledge again.

And god, Archie is determined to send him there, if the way he’s practically making love to Cook’s cock is any indication. He suckles the swollen head between his soft, moist lips, presses his tongue to the underside, laps gently at the leaking slit with a soft, sated hum that Cook feels down into his _bones_.

“Fuck,” he grits, a needful whimper falling from his lips. His hips arch off the bed, seeking more of that delicious friction against his dick, wet slick heat and soft, full lips.

Archie pulls off with a soft, wet pop, glancing back at him, and Cook nearly comes just at the look on his face, those heavy-lidded, _gorgeous_ eyes, dark with desire, red mouth slack as he pants, “C’mon, Cook.” He arches his back, his cock, hanging thick and heavy between his legs, brushing against the seam of Cook’s panting mouth. “You said you’d be good.”

Jesus Christ, that raspy voice, so deep and shot through with lust, is like a bolt of pure pleasure straight through Cook’s heated veins. He parts his lips and sucks Archie’s swollen cockhead into his mouth, groaning at the taste, slick and sweet against his swirling tongue.

He has to clench his fists to keep from reaching for his boyfriend, longing to curl his fingers against Archie’s ass and delve into the hot divide. But Archie’s words ring anew in his head – _If you’re good, you can touch me after I’ve made you come for a second time_ – and he resists. Barely.

Instead he takes Archie into his mouth as deep as he can, sucking at the turgid flesh of his boyfriend’s erection with all of the pent up desperation that Archie’s rule against touch has instilled in him. Precome and saliva slick the way, Archie’s breathy, muffled moans filling his ears, his taste, his lips and tongue sending Cook further and further to the edge, into that margin where pleasure sharpens into exquisite pain.

Archie’s hands don’t help; unlike Cook, there are no rules set in place to keep them at bay, and he takes full advantage, curling his slender fingers around Cook’s base as he sucks him down, clutching at Cook’s thigh with his free hand, the blunt edge of his nails pressing bruises into his flesh.

Cook tries to ignore his own body’s needful responses, its desperate rush toward release, focusing instead on preparing Archie exactly as he’d asked. A fluid mix of come and saliva speckles his lips, drips from his mouth to catch in his stubble; he feels messy and wanton and _wild_ , the whole of his body aching for Archie’s touch, aching for Archie to turn around, spread his thighs, and _take_ him. The strength of his need surprises him, the breadth of his desire for Archie inside of him steals his breath, and he works the rigid flesh between his lips with renewed vigor as fire pools in his belly, his groin, god, he’s so _close_ –

Archie must be able to tell, can probably feel the way his thighs tremble with his oncoming release; he releases Cook from his mouth with a gasping breath, Cook’s name falling from his lips in a shaky exhale.

“S-stop,” he breathes, though his body seems to rebel at the command, his hips continuing their soft, thrusting grind. “ _Cook_ , stop. That’s enough.”

Cook falls back to the mattress, breathing hard as Archie climbs off of him. Sweat plasters his hair to his brow, drips into his eyes as he lies there panting, and his limbs feel like liquid as Archie leans over him.

“How’d I do?” he asks, crooking a smile at his boyfriend as Archie settles atop him.

Soft, moist lips press against his sweaty brow, raining kisses onto the bridge of his nose, his fluttering eyelids, the corner of his mouth.

“So good,” he murmurs against Cook’s lips, a hair’s breath away from kissing him; Cook inclines his head hopefully, but Archie moves away with a soft, teasing smile, bestowing a kiss to Cook’s heaving chest instead. “You did so good, love.”

Cook’s heart thrums at the endearment. He tilts his head against the rumpled pillows, bites his lip as Archie continues to press kisses against his chest, his stomach, his navel. “C’mon, Archie,” he pleads, the need building in him once more. “Want you in me.”

Archie’s eyes go dark and liquid. Without a word he moves between Cook’s legs, sliding his palms over the hot skin of his inner thighs. Cook’s breath catches at the powerful flex of Archie’s shoulders, the sweat marring his chest, the surety in his gaze as he hitches Cook’s hips up, spreads him open.

“I love you.” The words fall from his lips in a sigh, soft and easy, the truth of it ringing in his heart like the clearest bell.

Archie pauses. His eyes are wide, bright with emotion, and his voice falters over Cook’s name. He swallows, tries again, and Cook drinks in the sound of his soft, “I love you, too,” with a heart that feels suddenly too heavy and too light, _full_ with everything he feels for this man.

He lifts himself onto his elbows, cants his hips so that he lies exposed beneath Archie’s wet, passionate gaze, and whispers, “Show me.”

-

Archie feels like he’s about to fall apart and _explode_ from the overpowering intensity of how much he _wants_ Cook at that moment—and seeing him like this: open, ready, and out-of-his-mind _desperate_ for Archie to _take_ him—is shattering Archie’s self-control.

He doesn’t want to be selfish, doesn’t want to _hurt_ Cook in any way—he’ll die a thousand times over before he allows that to happen—but god, the way Cook’s heels are digging on to his upper back as a none too subtle hint, mutely pleading for him to _get on with it,_ is scrambling the last of his conscious will.  He makes a last ditch effort to gain back some of his control and takes a deep, shaky breath.

“H-How—” His already breathy voice sounds sex-hoarse even to his own ears, and he licks his lips, coating them with his boyfriend’s come; his cock throbs _maddeningly_ at the taste.  “How do you want this, love?”

He leans down to lick at the come still dripping down Cook’s chin, and he shudders pleasantly at the taste of _them_ , mixed together in his mouth.  “Slow and sweet?” he murmurs as he positions his cock at Cook’s entrance, “or fast and filthy?”

He raises half-lidded eyes to look at his lover’s face, and he could’ve almost laughed at how _torn_ Cook suddenly looks at those choices, had his entire consciousness not been caught up in a lustful haze that’s blinding him to nothing else but his body’s aching need to _take._

Cook doesn’t look much better, his eyes nearly blown to black, and he tilts his mouth minutely upward to breathe against Archie’s lips.

“Slow…” Cook answers him, low and demanding: “… and _filthy_.”

Archie’s eyes widen at the unexpected third option, and Cook smirks at him darkly, challengingly.

He threads both hands through Cook’s hair to hold him still as he keeps their gazes locked.

“Your wish,” Archie replies hoarsely, “is my command.”

And slowly, oh so slowly, he finally sinks inside of Cook.

His entire body trembles with the effort as he slides in, inch by torturous inch, the slick, hot friction further amping his already hypersensitive nerves, narrowing his entire world to nothing else but the sensation of Cook wrapped around him in the most intimate manner.  Archie bites his lip, wanting to _cry_ with how good it feels, how _exquisite_ , how hot and tight Cook feels around his cock, how Cook’s entire body is opening up to him and how his inner muscles are greedily sucking Archie in like he _belongs_ inside, and it’s insanely perfect and almost too much and altogether _not enough_.

Cook makes a sound that doesn’t even seem entirely human as he lets out a guttural groan, and Archie sees the way Cook’s eyes roll to the back of his head in utter ecstasy.  He tugs gently but firmly at Cook’s hair, silently calling Cook’s attention back to him.  Breathing hard, Cook mutely obeys, and Archie _whimpers_ at the way Cook is gazing heatedly up at him: slack, wide-eyed, and _wild._

“Fifth rule,” Archie whispers shakily, “you’re not allowed to look _away_.”

The last word was punctuated with a hard thrust as Archie fully bottoms out, his balls snug against Cook’s ass.  Cook’s mouth falls open in a silent scream as Archie grinds and circles his hips, letting Cook _feel_ the entire length and girth of him inside before he slowly, oh so slowly, slides back out again nearly all the way.

“ _Fuck,_ Arch, you’re going to kill me, baby,” Cook rasps out.  “I’m going to _die—_ oh _god._ ”

Archie shivers in satisfaction at the blasphemous moan as he thrusts back in, slow and _hard,_ making Cook scrabble for purchase on the sheets as the force slams the headboard of the bed against the wall; dimly, Archie is suddenly very, _very_ thankful that their neighbours have gone out of town for the weekend, because he intends to wring every last sound of _pleasure_ out of Cook.

“No you won’t,” he murmurs soothingly, tenderly brushing Cook’s wet bangs away his face so he can look straight into those beloved eyes.  “I promised to take care of you, didn’t I?”  He grinds his hips slowly as he mouths at Cook’s forehead, his cheeks, his jaw, his neck, kissing and licking away the sweat dripping off of Cook’s skin and relishing the salty-sweet taste of it on his tongue.  “I promised to _love_ you.”

The oath carries more weight than Cook can ever possibly know, extending to far more than this physical joining and far beyond tonight, and Archie feels his throat tighten with emotion as he kneads and rubs comfortingly at Cook’s trembling thigh before he hitches his lover’s leg higher over his shoulder.

Cook’s eyes go impossibly wider at how exposed and _vulnerable_ he now is in this position—and at the knowledge of what this change in angle entails.

Heart swelling with the most potent mix of love and lust combined, Archie reminds Cook one more time:

“… Keep your eyes fixed on me.”

 _Make this good_ , is the reminder he tells himself.   _Make this last, for him._

_He deserves the best from you._

_He deserves_ all _of you._

With those thoughts firmly in mind, Archie slides back out almost all the way, and at this new angle, he hits straight through Cook’s prostate when he thrusts _—_ and Cook _howls._

Archie grips Cook’s hips for added leverage, and he is silently grateful for the strength his daily running routine has brought to his legs as he keeps thrusting nearly all the way back out and all the way back in, hitting his intended target inside of Cook each time and wringing a guttural cry out of him that mingles with the forceful banging of the bed against the wall.

And all the while, their eyes are locked on each other, and Cook is looking at him like a dying man gasping for breath and Archie is the only source of air left—

And as Archie gazes back, he lets all his masks fall, telling Cook without words that this is how much he trusts him, this is how much of himself he is letting Cook have, and it is _everything_ , every part of who he is, with nothing more to hide and nothing left to ask for except—

“Let go,” he begs as he suddenly feels that rush inside of him, building into an explosion that he doesn’t want to be alone in.  Feeling as if his body won’t be able to contain the way his heart is going to burst any longer, he leans down and whispers Cook’s own lyrics back at him:

_“Let go.  Fall in.  Drown in this moment with me.”_

He gasps against Cook’s mouth, breathing him in, and finally, _finally_ … Archie kisses him.

And finally… Cook lets go.

-

Cook’s groan of completion is lost in the heat of Archie’s mouth, his soft lips and slick tongue stealing the whimpers from Cook’s throat. His stomach tightens as his orgasm hits him, his thighs trembling as it rushes through him, and he sucks needfully on Archie’s tongue as he feels the gush of his release hitting his stomach, dripping down into his pubic hair.

Archie trembles above him; Cook can feel the coiled tension in his body, his grip on Cook’s thighs tight and bruising as his body strains towards its own release.

Free now to touch his lover as he pleases, Cook pushes his fingers through Archie’s hair, wraps his legs tightly around Archie’s slim waist, and urges him to, “C’mon, baby,” his voice sex-drunk and hoarse. “Want you to come, want to feel it, c’mon – ” His voice fades into a gasp as Archie snaps his hips forward, grinding his dick into Cook’s body with a breathless whine.

“ _Cook_ ,” he whimpers, hips pistoning as he chases his pleasure. His breath comes in pants, mouth slack and soft-looking, slick with saliva from their messy kisses, and Cook drinks him in, so gorgeous and wanton and uninhibited in his pleasure.

Cook fucking loves him like this, loves being _used_ like this, his body buzzing in the aftermath of his orgasm, his skin hot and hypersensitive to the touch. He bears down on Archie’s cock, meeting him thrust for thrust, and tilts his head back on a gasping sigh as Archie fucks him with abandon.

He urges Archie on with hushed entreaties for more, faster, harder, needing to feel it, wanting Archie to fall apart inside of him.

It doesn’t take long. Archie’s hips snap forward once, twice more, his fingers going tight around Cook’s hips as he reaches his peak, stilling with his dick buried to the hilt inside of his lover. Cook watches his boyfriend’s release crash over him with all the reverence of a worshipper at the altar, his heart full and _aching_ at the expression on Archie’s face, an exquisite mixture of pain and bliss, his eyes clenched shut as he rides out the waves of his orgasm.

He reaches forward and guides Archie’s mouth down to his, nipping at his swollen lips with a single-minded desperation born of his need to show Archie how fucking beautiful he is, how much Cook loves him, how he’ll never grow tired of this, the both of them tangled together, connected in every way that matters.

Archie shivers, burying his fingers in Cook’s hair as they kiss. Their desperation cools into a sweet, soft tenderness that sends tendrils of warmth through Cook’s body, wrapping around his heart, and he smiles against Archie’s lips, a giddy laugh escaping him as he pulls away and falls back to the mattress, utterly spent and thoroughly fucked.

Archie settles carefully over him, still buried deep inside Cook’s body, and tilts his head at Cook. “What’s so funny?” he rasps, struggling to catch his breath. He brushes Cook’s sweaty hair from his brow, his touch infinitely gentle, and Cook reaches up to grab his hand, curling their fingers together.

“I’m just happy,” he says, soft and low. He cants his hips, a teasing grin curling his lips as Archie’s breath catches. “Like seeing you like this, Archie. Like it when you take control.”

Archie flushes prettily, and Cook laughs, loving that even with his softening cock buried inside Cook’s body Archie can still get embarrassed so easily.

“I – I like it, too,” Archie admits quietly, his eyes shining as he holds Cook’s gaze. His fingers squeeze around Cook’s. “I like taking care of you, Cook. Like seeing you lose control.“

“Yeah?” Cook pulls him close, wrapping his arms low around Archie’s waist, smoothing over the soft skin of his lower back.

Archie captures his lips in a kiss, whispering, “Yeah,” against his mouth.

For a moment they’re content to lie there, bodies pressed warmly together, sweat cooling in the aftermath of spent passion. When Archie finally slips free of his body, it’s with a reluctance that warms Cook’s blood, and he pulls his boyfriend back into the circle of his arms, not wanting to relinquish their connection just yet.

Archie is quiet for a while, running his fingers through Cook’s hair, over the ruddy skin of his cheeks, drifting through his stubble. He looks deep in thought, and Cook’s content to wait him out, relishing in the contact of Archie’s skin against his, in the soreness of his limbs, the ache in his thighs and buttocks and the ring of bruises he knows have formed on his flesh from Archie’s strong grip.

“Thank you, Cook,” Archie finally says, voice soft in the darkness.

Cook tilts his head against Archie’s shoulder, looking up at that beloved face. “What are you thanking  _me_ for?” he asks, a hint of playful teasing in his voice. “I should be the one thanking you, Arch.” There’s no disguising what he thinks he should be thanking Archie _for_ , and he grins as Archie’s skin warms beneath his cheek.

“For tonight,” Archie says. “For distracting me. For trusting me.” His voice softens. “For loving me,” he concludes, pressing his lips to Cook’s brow.

For a moment Cook doesn’t know how to respond. His throat closes around a lump, his heart too full. Rather than speak he simply holds Archie close, folding him within the circle of his arms. “Archie. _David_. You never have to thank me for that. Any of it. Anytime you need me, anytime you need _this_ , it’s yours.” He reaches up to curl his fingers around Archie’s chin, locking their gazes and hoping that Archie _understands_. “Always has been.”

Archie’s eyes gleam, something fragile and hopeful and brilliant in their depths. It’s the promise, Cook knows, of _forever_ , the both of them just like this until the clock runs out.

And when Archie leans down to catch his lips in a sweet, lingering kiss, Cook knows it’s a promise they both plan to keep.


End file.
